The gay and lively Louis, blithe as any wild bird in the bright sunlight, was the most easily oppressed by this strange superstitious fear, when the shades of evening were closing round, and he would start with ill-disguised terror at every sound or shape that met his ear or eye, though the next minute he was the first to laugh at his own weakness. In Hector the feeling was of a graver, more solemn cast, recalling to his mind all the wild and wondrous tales with which his father was wont to entertain the children as they crouched round the huge log-fire of an evening. It is strange the charm these marvellous tales possess for the youthful mind: no matter how improbable or how often told, year after year they will be listened to with the same ardour, with an interest that appears to grow with repetition. And still, as they slowly wandered along, Hector would repeat to his breathless auditors those Highland legends that were as familiar to their ears as household words; and still they listened with fear and wonder, and deep awe, till at each pause he made the deep-drawn breath and half-repressed shudder might be heard. And now the little party paused irresolutely, fearing to proceed: they had omitted to notice some landmark in their progress; the moon had not long been up, and her light was as yet indistinct; so they sat them down on a little grassy spot on the bank, and rested till the moon should lighten their path.

Louis was confident they were not far from the "Big Stone," but careful Hector had his doubts, and Catharine was weary. The children had already conceived a sort of home feeling for the valley and the mass of stone that had sheltered them for so many nights; and soon the dark mass came in sight, as the broad full light of the now risen moon fell upon its rugged sides: they were nearer to it than they had imagined.

"Forward for the 'Big Stone' and the wigwam," cried Louis.

"Hush!" said Catharine, "look there!" raising her hand with a warning gesture.

"Where? what?"

"The wolf! the wolf!" gasped out the terrified girl. There, indeed, upon the summit of the block, in the attitude of a sentinel or watcher, stood the gaunt-figured animal; and as she spoke, a long wild cry, the sound of which seemed as if it came midway between the earth and the tops of the tall pines on the lofty ridge above them, struck terror into their hearts, as with speechless horror they gazed upon the dark outline of the terrible beast. There it stood, with its head raised, its neck stretched outward, and ears erect, as if to catch the echo that gave back those dismal sounds; another minute and he was gone to join his companions, and the crashing of branches and the rush of many feet on the high bank above was followed by the prolonged cry of a poor fugitive animal,—a doe, or fawn, perhaps,—in the very climax of mortal agony; and then the lonely recesses of the forest took up that fearful death-cry, the far-off shores of the lake and the distant islands prolonged it, and the terrified children clung together in fear and trembling.

A few minutes over, and all was still. The chase had turned across the hills to some distant ravine; the wolves were all gone—not even the watcher was left; and the little valley lay once more in silence, with all its dewy roses and sweet blossoms glittering in the moonlight. But though around them all was peace and loveliness, it was long ere confidence was restored to the hearts of the panic-stricken and trembling children. They beheld a savage enemy in every mass of leafy shade, and every rustling bough struck fresh terror into their excited minds. They might have exclaimed, with the patriarch Jacob, "How dreadful is this place!"

With hand clasped in hand, they sat them down among the thick covert of the bushes; for now they feared to move forward, lest the wolves should return. Sleep was long a stranger to their watchful eyes, each fearing to be the only one left awake, and long and painful was their vigil. Yet nature, overtasked, at length gave way, and sleep came down upon their eyelids—deep, unbroken sleep, which lasted till the broad sunlight, breaking through the leafy curtains of their forest-bed, and the sound of waving boughs and twittering birds, once more awakened them to life and light, recalling them from happy dreams of home and friends to an aching sense of loneliness and desolation. This day they did not wander far from the valley, but took the precaution, as evening drew on, to light a large fire, the blaze of which they thought would keep away any beast of prey. They had no want of food, as the fish they had caught the day before proved an ample supply. The huckleberries were ripening too, and soon afforded them a never-failing source of food; there was also an abundance of bilberries, the sweet fruit of which proved a great treat, besides being very nourishing.



CHAPTER III.

"Oh for a lodge in the vast wilderness, The boundless contiguity of shade!"

A fortnight had now passed, and Catharine still suffered so much from pain and fever that they were unable to continue their wanderings; all that Hector and his cousin could do was to carry her to the bower by the lake, where she reclined whilst they caught fish. The painful longing to regain their lost home had lost nothing of its intensity; and often would the poor sufferer start from her bed of leaves and boughs to wring her hands and weep, and call in piteous tones upon that dear father and mother who would have given worlds, had they been at their command, to have heard but one accent of her beloved voice, to have felt one loving pressure from that fevered hand. Hope, the consoler, hovered over the path of the young wanderers, long after she had ceased to whisper comfort to the desolate hearts of the mournful parents.

Of all that suffered by this sad calamity, no one was more to be pitied than Louis Perron. Deeply did the poor boy lament the thoughtless folly which had involved his cousin Catharine in so terrible a misfortune. "If Kate had not been with me," he would say, "we should not have been lost; for Hector is so cautious and so careful, he would not have left the cattle-path. But we were so heedless, we thought only of flowers and insects, of birds and such trifles, and paid no heed to our way." Louis Perron, such is life. The young press gaily onward, gathering the flowers, and following the gay butterflies that attract them in the form of pleasure and amusement: they forget the grave counsels of the thoughtful, till they find the path they have followed is beset with briers and thorns; and a thousand painful difficulties that were unseen, unexpected, overwhelm and bring them to a sad sense of their own folly; and, perhaps, the punishment of their errors does not fall upon themselves alone, but upon the innocent, who have unknowingly been made participators in their fault.

By the kindest and tenderest attention to all her comforts, Louis endeavoured to alleviate his cousin's sufferings, and soften her regrets; nay, he would often speak cheerfully and even gaily to her, when his own heart was heavy and his eyes ready to overflow with tears.

"If it were not for our dear parents and the dear children at home," he would say, "we might spend our time most happily upon these charming plains; it is much more delightful here than in the dark, thick woods; see how brightly the sunbeams come down and gladden the ground, and cover the earth with fruit and flowers. It is pleasant to be able to fish and hunt, and trap the game. Yes, if they were all here, we would build us a nice log-house, and clear up these bushes on the flat near the lake. This 'Elfin Knowe,' as you call it, Kate, would be a nice spot to build upon. See these glorious old oaks—not one should be cut down; and we would have a boat and a canoe, and voyage across to yonder islands. Would it not be charming, ma belle?" and Catharine, smiling at the picture drawn so eloquently, would enter into the spirit of the project, and say,—

"Ah! Louis, that would be pleasant."

"If we had but my father's rifle now," said Hector, "and old Wolfe."

"Yes, and Fanchette, dear little Fanchette, that trees the partridges and black squirrels," said Louis.

"I saw a doe and a half-grown fawn beside her this very morning, at break of day," said Hector. "The fawn was so little fearful, that if I had had a stick in my hand I could have killed it. I came within ten yards of the spot where it stood. I know it would be easy to catch one by making a dead-fall." A sort of trap in which game is taken in the woods, or on the banks of creeks.

"If we had but a dear fawn to frolic about us, like Mignon, dear innocent Mignon," cried Catharine, "I should never feel lonely then."

"And we should never want for meat, if we could catch a fine fawn from time to time, ma belle.—Hec, what are you thinking of?"

"I was thinking, Louis, that if we were doomed to remain here all our lives, we must build a house for ourselves; we could not live in the open air without shelter as we have done. The summer will soon pass, and the rainy season will come, and the bitter frosts and snows of winter will have to be provided against."

"But, Hector, do you really think there is no chance of finding our way back to Cold Springs? We know it must be behind this lake," said Lotus.

"True, but whether east, west, or south, we cannot tell, and whichever way we take now is but a chance; and if once we leave the lake and get involved in the mazes of that dark forest, we should perish: for we know there is neither water nor fruit nor game to be had as there is here, and we might soon be starved to death. God was good who led us beside this fine lake, and upon these fruitful plains."

"It is a good thing that I had my axe when we started from home," said Hector. "We should not have been so well off without it; we shall find the use of it if we have to build a house. We must look out for some spot where there is a spring of good water, and—"

"No horrible wolves," interrupted Catharine. "Though I love this pretty ravine, and the banks and braes about us, I do not think I shall like to stay here. I heard the wolves only last night, when you and Louis were asleep."

"We must not forget to keep watch-fires."

"What shall we do for clothes?" said Catharine, glancing at her home-spun frock of wool and cotton plaid.

"A weighty consideration indeed," sighed Hector; "clothes must be provided before ours are worn out and the winter comes on."

"We must save all the skins of the woodchucks and squirrels," suggested Louis; "and fawns when we catch them."

"Yes, and fawns when we get them," added Hector; "but it is time enough to think of all these things; we must not give up all hope of home."

"I give up all hope? I shall hope on while I have life," said Catharine. "My dear, dear father, he will never forget his lost children; he will try and find us, alive or dead; he will never give up the search."

Poor child, how long did this hope burn like a living torch in thy guileless breast. How often, as they roamed those hills and valleys, were thine eyes sent into the gloomy recesses of the dark ravines and thick bushes, with the hope that they would meet the advancing form and outstretched arms of thy earthly parents: all in vain. Yet the arms of thy heavenly Father were extended over thee, to guide, to guard, and to sustain thee.

How often were Catharine's hands filled with wild-flowers, to carry home, as she fondly said, to sick Louise or her mother. Poor Catharine, how often did your bouquets fade; how often did the sad exile water them with her tears,—for hers was the hope that keeps alive despair.

When they roused them in the morning to recommence their fruitless wanderings, they would say to each other, "Perhaps we shall see our father, he may find us here to-day;" but evening came, and still he came not, and they were no nearer to their father's home than they had been the day previous.

"If we could but find our way back to the 'Cold Creek,' we might, by following its course, return to Cold Springs," said Hector.

"I doubt much the fact of the 'Cold Creek' having any connection with our Spring," said Louis; "I think it has its rise in the Beaver Meadow, and following its course would only entangle us among those wolfish balsam and cedar swamps, or lead us yet further astray into the thick recesses of the pine forest. For my part, I believe we are already fifty miles from Cold Springs."

Persons who lose their way in the pathless woods have no idea of distance, or the points of the compass, unless they can see the sun rise and set, which it is not possible to do when surrounded by the dense growth of forest-trees; they rather measure distance by the time they have been wandering, than by any other token.

The children knew that they had been a long time absent from home, wandering hither and thither and they fancied their journey had been as long as it had been weary. They had indeed the comfort of seeing the sun in its course from east to west, but they knew not in what direction the home they had lost lay; it was this that troubled them in their choice of the course they should take each day, and at last determined them to lose no more time so fruitlessly, where the peril was so great, but seek for some pleasant spot where they might pass their time in safety, and provide for their present and future wants.

"The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide."

Catharine declared her ankle was so much stronger than it had been since the accident, and her health so much amended, that the day after the conversation just recorded, the little party bade farewell to the valley of the "Big Stone," and ascending the steep sides of the hills, bent their steps eastward, keeping the lake to their left hand. Hector led the way, loaded with the axe, which he would trust to no one but himself, the tin-pot, and the birch basket. Louis had to assist his cousin up the steep banks, likewise some fish to carry, which had been caught early in the morning.

The wanderers thought at first to explore the ground near the lake shore, but soon abandoned this resolution on finding the undergrowth of trees and bushes become so thick that they made little progress, and the fatigue of travelling was greatly increased by having continually to put aside the bushes or bend them down.

Hector advised trying the higher ground; and after following a deer-path through a small ravine that crossed the hills, they found themselves on a fine extent of table-land, richly but not too densely wooded with white and black oaks (Quercus alba, and Quercus nigra), diversified with here and there a solitary pine, which reared its straight and pillar-like trunk in stately grandeur above its leafy companions; a meet eyrie for the bald eagle, that kept watch from its dark crest over the silent waters of the lake, spread below like a silver zone studded with emeralds.

In their progress they passed the head of many small ravines, which divided the hilly shores of the lake into deep furrows: these furrows had once been channels by which the waters of some upper lake (the site of which is now dry land) had at a former period poured down into the valley, filling the basin of what now is called the Rice Lake. These waters, with resistless sweep, had ploughed their way between the hills, bearing in their course those blocks of granite and limestone which are so widely scattered both on the hill-tops and the plains, or form a rocky pavement at the bottom of the narrow defiles. What a sight of sublime desolation must that outpouring of the waters have presented, when those deep banks were riven by the sweeping torrents that were loosened from their former bounds! The pleased eye rests upon these tranquil shores, now covered with oaks and pines, or waving with a flood of golden grain, or varied by neat dwellings and fruitful gardens; and the gazer on that peaceful scene scarcely pictures to himself what it must have been when no living eye was there to mark the rushing floods when they scooped to themselves the deep bed in which they now repose.

Those lovely islands that sit like stately crowns upon the waters were doubtless the wreck that remained of the valley; elevated spots, whose rocky bases withstood the force of the rushing waters, that carried away the lighter portions of the soil. The southern shore, seen from the lake, seems to lie in regular ridges running from south to north: some few are parallel with the lake shore, possibly where some insurmountable impediment turned the current of the subsiding waters; but they all find an outlet through their connection with ravines communicating with the lake.

There is a beautiful level tract of land; with only here and there a solitary oak or a few stately pines growing upon it; it is commonly called the "Upper Race-course," on account of the smoothness of the surface. It forms a high table-land, nearly three hundred feet above the lake, and is surrounded by high hills. This spot, though now dry and covered with turf and flowers, and low bushes, has evidently once been a broad sheet of water. To the eastward lies a still more lovely and attractive spot, known as the "Lower Race-course." It lies on a lower level than the former one, and, like it, is embanked by a ridge of distant hills. Both have ravines leading down to the Rice Lake, and may have been the sources from whence its channel was filled. Some convulsion of nature at a remote period, by raising the waters above their natural level, might have caused a disruption of the banks, and drained their beds, as they now appear ready for the ploughshare or the spade. In the month of June these flats are brilliant with the splendid blossoms of the Castilegia coccinea, or painted-cup, the azure lupine (Lupinus perennis), and snowy Trillium; dwarf roses (Rosa blanda) scent the evening air, and grow as if planted by the hand of taste.

A carpeting of the small downy saxifrage (Saxifraga nivalis), with its white silky leaves, covers the ground in early spring. In autumn it is red with the bright berries and dark box-shaped leaves of a species of creeping winter-green, that the Indians call spice-berry (Gaultheria procumbens); the leaves are highly aromatic, and it is medicinal as well as agreeable to the taste and smell. In the month of July a gorgeous assemblage of orange lilies (Lilium Philadelphicum) take the place of the lupine and trilliums: these splendid lilies vary from orange to the brightest scarlet. Various species of sunflowers and coreopsis next appear, and elegant white pyrolas [Footnote: Indian bean, also called Indian potato (Apios tuberosa).] scent the air and charm the eye. The delicate lilac and white shrubby asters next appear; and these are followed by the large deep-blue gentian, and here and there by the elegant fringed gentian. [Footnote: Gentiana linearis, G. crenata.] These are the latest and loveliest of the flowers that adorn this tract of land. It is indeed a garden of nature's own planting, but the wild garden is being converted into fields of grain, and the wild flowers give place to a new race of vegetables, less ornamental, but more useful to man and the races of domestic animals that depend upon him for their support.

Our travellers, after wandering over this lovely plain, found themselves, at the close of the day, at the head of a fine ravine, [Footnote: Kilvert's Ravine, above Pine-tree Point.] where they had the good fortune to perceive a spring of pure water oozing beneath some large moss-covered blocks of black waterworn granite. The ground was thickly covered with moss about the edges of the spring, and many varieties of flowering shrubs and fruits were scattered along the valley and up the steep sides of the surrounding hills. There were whortleberries, or huckleberries, as they are more usually called, in abundance; bilberries dead ripe, and falling from the bushes at a touch. The vines that wreathed the low bushes and climbed the trees were loaded with clusters of grapes; but these were yet hard and green. Dwarf filberts grew on the dry gravelly sides of the hills, yet the rough prickly calyx that enclosed the nut filled their fingers with minute thorns that irritated the skin like the stings of the nettle; but as the kernel, when ripe, was sweet and good, they did not mind the consequences. The moist part of the valley was occupied by a large bed of May-apples, [Footnote: Podophyllum peltatum,—mandrake, or May-apple.] the fruit of which was of unusual size, but they were not ripe, August being the month when they ripen; there were also wild plums still green, and wild cherries and blackberries ripening. There were great numbers of the woodchucks' burrows on the hills; wild partridges and quails were seen under the thick covert of the blue-berried dog-wood, [Footnote: Cornus sericea. The blue berries of this shrub are eaten by the partridge and wild ducks; also by the pigeons, and other birds. There are several species of this shrub common to the Rice Lake.] that here grew in abundance at the mouth of the ravine where it opened to the lake. As this spot offered many advantages, our travellers halted for the night, and resolved to make it their headquarters for a season, till they should meet with an eligible situation for building a winter shelter.

Here, then, at the head of the valley, sheltered by one of the rounded hills that formed its sides, our young people erected a summer hut, somewhat after the fashion of an Indian wigwam, which was all the shelter that was requisite while the weather remained so warm. Through the opening at the gorge of this ravine they enjoyed a peep at the distant waters of the lake, which terminated the vista, while they were quite removed from its unwholesome vapours.

The temperature of the air for some days had been hot and sultry, scarcely modified by the cool, delicious breeze that usually sets in about nine o'clock and blows most refreshingly till four or five in the afternoon. Hector and Louis had gone down to fish for supper, while Catharine busied herself in collecting leaves and dried deer-grass, moss and fern, of which there was abundance near the spring. The boys had promised to cut some fresh cedar boughs near the lake shore, and bring them up to form a foundation for their beds, and also to strew Indian-fashion over the floor of the hut by way of a carpet.

The fragrant carpet of cedar or hemlock-spruce sprigs strewn lightly over the earthen floor, was to them a luxury as great as if it had been taken from the looms of Persia or Turkey, so happy and contented were they in their ignorance. Their beds of freshly gathered grass and leaves, raised from the earth by a heap of branches carefully arranged, were to them as pleasant as beds of down, and the rude hut of bark and poles as curtains of damask or silk.

Having collected as much of these materials as she deemed sufficient for the purpose, Catharine next gathered up the dry oak branches, to make a watch-fire for the night. This done, weary and warm, she sat down on a little hillock, beneath the cooling shade of a grove of young aspens that grew near the hut. Pleased with the dancing of the leaves, which fluttered above her head, and fanned her warm cheek with their incessant motion, she thought, like her cousin Louise, that the aspen was the merriest tree in the forest, for it was always dancing, dancing, dancing.

She watched the gathering of the distant thunderclouds, which cast a deeper, more sombre shade upon the pines that girded the northern shores of the lake as with an ebon frame. Insensibly her thoughts wandered far away from the lonely spot whereon she sat, to the stoup [Footnote: The Dutch word for veranda, which is still in common use among the Canadians.] in front of her father's house, and in memory's eye she beheld it all exactly as she had left it. There stood the big spinning-wheel, just as she had set it aside; the hanks of dyed yarn suspended from the rafters, the basket filled with the carded wool ready for her work. She saw in fancy her father, with his fine athletic upright figure, his sunburnt cheeks and clustering sable hair, his clear energetic hazel eyes ever beaming upon her, his favourite child, with looks of love and kindness as she moved to and fro at her wheel. [Footnote: Such is the method of working at the large wool-wheel, unknown or obsolete in England.] There, too, was her mother, with her light step and sweet cheerful voice, singing as she pursued her daily avocations; and Donald and Kenneth driving up the cows to be milked, or chopping firewood. And as these images, like the figures of the magic-lantern, passed in all their living colours before her mental vision, her head drooped heavier and lower till it sank upon her arm; and then she started, looked round, and slept again, her face deeply buried in her young bosom, and long and peacefully the young girl slumbered.

A sound of hurrying feet approaches, a wild cry is heard and panting breath, and the sleeper, with a startling scream, springs to her feet: she dreamed that she was struggling in the fangs of a wolf—its grisly paws were clasped about her throat; the feeling was agony and suffocation: her languid eyes open. Can it be?—what is it that she sees? Yes, it is Wolfe; not the fierce creature of her dreams by night and her fears by day, but her father's own brave, devoted dog. What joy, what hope rushed to her heart! She threw herself upon the shaggy neck of the faithful beast, and wept from fulness of heart.

"Yes," she joyfully cried, "I knew that I should see him again. My own dear, dear, loving father! Father! father! dear, dear father, here are your children! Come, come quickly!" and she hurried to the head of the valley, raising her voice, that the beloved parent, who she now confidently believed was approaching, might be guided to the spot by the well-known sound of her voice.

Poor child! the echoes of thy eager voice, prolonged by every projecting headland of the valley, replied in mocking tones, "Come quickly!"

Bewildered she paused, listened breathlessly, and again she called, "Father, come quickly, come!" and again the deceitful sounds were repeated, "Quickly come!"

The faithful dog, who had succeeded in tracking the steps of his lost mistress, raised his head and erected his ears as she called on her father's name; but he gave no joyful bark of recognition as he was wont to do when he heard his master's step approaching. Still Catharine could not but think that Wolfe had only hurried on before, and that her father must be very near.

The sound of her voice had been heard by her brother and cousin, who, fearing some evil beast had made its way to the wigwam, hastily wound up their line and left the fishing-ground to hurry to her assistance. They could hardly believe their eyes when they saw Wolfe, faithful old Wolfe, their earliest friend and playfellow, named by their father after the gallant hero of Quebec. And they too, like Catharine, thought that their friends were not far distant; joyfully they climbed the hills and shouted aloud, and Wolfe was coaxed and caressed and besought to follow them to point out the way they should take. But all their entreaties were in vain. Worn out with fatigue and long fasting, the poor old dog refused to quit the embers of the fire, before which he stretched himself, and the boys now noticed his gaunt frame and wasted flesh—he looked almost starved. The fact now became evident that he was in a state of great exhaustion. Catharine thought he eyed the spring with wishful looks, and she soon supplied him with water in the bark dish to his great relief.

Wolfe had been out for several days with his master, who would repeat, in tones of sad earnestness, to the faithful creature, "Lost, lost, lost!" It was his custom to do so when the cattle strayed, and Wolfe would travel in all directions till he found them, nor ceased his search till he discovered the objects he was ordered to bring home. The last night of the father's wanderings, when, sick and hopeless, he came back to his melancholy home, as he sat sleeplessly rocking himself to and fro, he involuntarily exclaimed, wringing his hands, "Lost, lost, lost!" Wolfe heard what to him was an imperative command; he rose, and stood at the door, and whined. Mechanically his master rose, lifted the latch, and again exclaimed in passionate tones those magic words, that sent the faithful messenger forth into the dark forest path. Once on the trail he never left it, but with an instinct incomprehensible as it was powerful, he continued to track the woods, lingering long on spots where the wanderers had left any signs of their sojourn; he had for some time been baffled at the Beaver Meadow, and again where they had crossed Cold Creek, but had regained the scent and traced them to the valley of the "Big Stone," and then, with the sagacity of the bloodhound and the affection of the terrier he had, at last, discovered the objects of his unwearied though often baffled search.

What a state of excitement did the unexpected arrival of old Wolfe create! How many questions were put to the poor beast, as he lay with his head pillowed on the knees of his loving mistress! Catharine knew it was foolish, but she could not help talking to the dumb animal, as if he had been conversant with her own language. Ah, old Wolfe, if your homesick nurse could but have interpreted those expressive looks, those eloquent waggings of your bushy tail, as it flapped upon the grass, or waved from side to side; those gentle lickings of the hand, and mute sorrowful glances, as though he would have said, "Dear mistress, I know all your troubles; I know all you say; but I cannot answer you!" There is something touching in the silent sympathy of the dog, to which only the hard-hearted and depraved can be quite insensible. I remember once hearing of a felon who had shown the greatest obstinacy and callous indifference to the appeals of his relations and the clergyman who attended him in prison, but was softened by the sight of a little dog that had been his companion in his days of comparative innocence, forcing its way through the crowd, till it gained the foot of the gallows; its mute look of anguish and affection unlocked the fount of human feeling, and the condemned man wept—perhaps the first tears he had shed since childhood's happy days.

The night closed in with a tempest of almost tropical violence. The inky darkness of the sky was relieved, at intervals, by sheets of lurid flame, which revealed every object far off or near. The distant lake, just seen amid the screen of leaves through the gorge of the valley, gleamed like a sea of molten sulphur; the deep narrow defile, shut in by the steep and wooded hills, looked deeper, more wild and gloomy, when revealed by that vivid glare of light.

There was no stir among the trees, the heavy rounded masses of foliage remained unmoved; the very aspen, that tremulous sensitive tree, scarcely stirred: it seemed as if the very pulses of nature were at rest. The solemn murmur that preceded the thunder-peals might have been likened to the moaning of the dying. The children felt the loneliness of the spot. Seated at the entrance of their sylvan hut, in front of which their evening fire burned brightly, they looked out upon the storm in silence and in awe. Screened by the sheltering shrubs that grew near them, they felt comparatively safe from the dangers of the storm, which now burst in terrific violence above the valley. Cloud answered to cloud, and the echoes of the hills prolonged the sound, while shattered trunks and brittle branches filled the air, and shrieked and groaned in that wild war of elements.

Between the pauses of the tempest the long howl of the wolves, from their covert in some distant cedar swamp at the edge of the lake, might be heard from time to time,—a sound that always thrilled their hearts with fear. To the mighty thunder-peals that burst above their heads they listened with awe and wonder. It seemed, indeed, to them as if it were the voice of Him who "sendeth out his voice, yea, and that a mighty voice." And they bowed and adored his majesty; but they shrank with curdled blood from the cry of the felon wolf.

And now the storm was at its climax, and the hail and rain came down in a whitening flood upon that ocean of forest leaves; the old gray branches were lifted up and down, and the stout trunks rent, for they would not bow down before the fury of the whirlwind, and were scattered all abroad like chaff before the wind.

The children thought not of danger for themselves, but they feared for the safety of their fathers, whom they believed to be not far off from them. And often amid the raging of the elements they fancied they could distinguish familiar voices calling upon their names.

"Ah, if our fathers should have perished in this fearful storm," said Catharine, weeping, "or have been starved to death while seeking for us!" She covered her face and wept more bitterly.

But Louis would not listen to such melancholy forebodings. Their fathers were both brave, hardy men, accustomed to every sort of danger and privation; they were able to take care of themselves. Yes, he was sure they were not far off; it was this unlucky storm coming on that had prevented them from meeting.

"To-morrow, ma chere, will be a glorious day after the storm. It will be a joyful one too; we shall go out with Wolfe, and he will find his master, and then—oh, yes! I dare say my dear father will be with yours. They will have taken good heed to the track, and we shall soon see our dear mothers and chere petite Louise."

The storm lasted till past midnight, when it gradually subsided, and the poor wanderers were glad to see the murky clouds roll off, and the stars peep forth among their broken masses; but they were reduced to a pitiful state, the hurricane having beaten down their little hut, and their garments were drenched with rain. However, the boys made a good fire with some bark and boughs they had in store: there were a few sparks in their back log unextinguished; these they gladly fanned up into a blaze, at which they dried their wet clothes, and warmed themselves. The air was now cool almost to chilliness; for some days the weather remained unsettled, and the sky overcast with clouds, while the lake presented a leaden hue, crested with white mimic waves.

They soon set to work to make another hut, and found close to the head of the ravine a great pine uprooted, affording them large pieces of bark, which proved very serviceable in thatching the sides of the hut. The boys employed themselves in this work, while Catharine cooked the fish they had caught the day before, with a share of which old Wolfe seemed to be mightily well pleased. After they had breakfasted, they all went up towards the high table-land above the ravine, with Wolfe, to look round in hope of getting sight of their friends from Cold Springs; but though they kept an anxious look-out in every direction, they returned towards evening tired and hopeless. Hector had killed a red squirrel, and a partridge which Wolfe "treed,"—that is, stood barking at the foot of the tree in which it had perched,—and the supply of meat was a seasonable change. They also noticed and marked with the axe, several trees where there were bee-hives, intending to come in the cold weather and cut them down. Louis's father was a great and successful bee-hunter; and Louis rather prided himself on having learned something of his father's skill in that line. Here, where flowers were so abundant and water plentiful; the wild bees seemed to be abundant also; besides, the open space between the trees, admitting the warm sunbeams freely, was favourable both for the bees and the flowers on which they fed, and Louis talked joyfully of the fine stores of honey they should collect in autumn. He had taught little Fanchon, a small French spaniel of his father's, to find out the trees where the bees hived, and also the nests of the ground-bees, and she would bark at the foot of the tree, or scratch with her feet on the ground, as the other dogs barked at the squirrels or the woodchucks; but Fanchon was far away, and Wolfe was old and would learn no new tricks, so Louis knew he had nothing but his own observation and the axe to depend upon for procuring honey.

The boys had been unsuccessful for some days past, in fishing; neither perch nor sunfish, pink roach nor mud-pouts [Footnote: All these fish are indigenous to the fresh waters of Canada.] were to be caught. However, they found water-mussels by groping in the sand, and cray-fish among the gravel at the edge of the water only; the latter pinched their fingers very spitefully. The mussels were not very palatable, for want of salt; but hungry folks must not be dainty, and Louis declared them very good when well roasted, covered up with hot embers. "The fish-hawks," said he, "set us a good example, for they eat them, and so do the eagles and herons. I watched one the other day with a mussel in his bill: he flew to a high tree, let his prey fall, and immediately darted down to secure it. But I drove him off; and, to my great amusement, perceived the wise fellow had just let it fall on a stone, which had cracked the shell for him just in the right place. I often see shells lying at the foot of trees, far up the hills, where these birds must have left them. There is one large thick-shelled mussel that I have found several times with a round hole drilled through the shell, just as if it had been done with a small auger, —doubtless the work of some bird with a strong beak."

"Do you remember," said Catharine, "the fine pink mussel-shell that Hec picked up in the little corn-field last year? It had a hole in one of the shells too, [Footnote: This ingenious mode of cracking the shells of mussels is common to many birds. The crow (Corvus corone) has been long known by American naturalists to break the thick shells of the river mussels, by letting them fall from a height on to rocks and stones.] and when my uncle saw it, he said it must have been dropped by some large bird, a fish-hawk possibly, or a heron, and brought from the great lake, as it had been taken out of some deep water; the mussels in our creeks being quite thin-shelled and white."

"Do you remember what a quantity of large fish bones we found in the eagle's nest on the top of our hill, Louis?" said Hector.

"I do. Those fish must have been larger than our perch and sunfish; they were brought from this very lake, I dare say."

"If we had a good canoe now, or a boat, and a strong hook and line, we might become great fishermen."

"Louis," said Catharine, "is always thinking about canoes, and boats, and skiffs; he ought to have been a sailor."

Louis was confident that if they had a canoe he could soon learn to manage her; he was an excellent sailor already in theory. Louis never saw difficulties; he was always hopeful, and had a very good opinion of his own cleverness; he was quicker in most things, his ideas flowed faster than Hector's. But Hector was more prudent, and possessed one valuable quality—steady perseverance: he was slow in adopting an opinion, but when once convinced, he pushed on steadily till he mastered the subject or overcame the obstacle.

"Catharine," said Louis one day, "the huckleberries are now very plentiful, and I think it would be a wise thing to gather a good store of them and dry them for the winter. See, ma chere, wherever we turn our eyes or place our feet they are to be found; the hill-sides are purple with them. We may for aught we know, be obliged to pass the rest of our lives here; it will be well to prepare for the winter, when no berries are to be found."

"It will be well, mon ami. But we must not dry them in the sun; for let me tell you, Mr. Louis, that they will be quite tasteless—mere dry husks."

"Why so, ma belle?"

"I do not know the reason, but I only know the fact; for when our mothers dried the currants and raspberries in the sun, such was the case; but when they dried them on the oven floor, or on the hearth, they were quite nice."

"Well, Cath, I think I know of a flat thin stone that will make a good hearthstone; and we can get sheets of birch bark and sew into flat bags to keep the dried fruit in."

They now turned all their attention to drying huckleberries (or whortleberries). [Footnote: From the abundance of this fruit, the Indians have given the name of Whortleberry Plain to the lands on the south shore. During the month of July and the early part of August, large parties come to the Rice Lake Plains to gather huckleberries, which they preserve by drying, for winter use. These berries make a delicious tart or pudding, mixed with bilberries and red currants, requiring little sugar.] Catharine and Louis (who fancied nothing could be contrived without his help) attended to the preparing and making of the bags of birch bark; but Hector was soon tired of girl's work, as he termed it, and after gathering some berries, would wander away over the hills in search of game and to explore the neighbouring hills and valleys, and sometimes it was sunset before he made his appearance. Hector had made an excellent strong bow, like the Indian bow, out of a tough piece of hickory wood, which he found in one of his rambles, and he made arrows with wood that he seasoned in the smoke, sharpening the heads with great care with his knife, and hardening them by exposure to strong heat, at a certain distance from the fire. The entrails of the woodchuck, stretched, and scraped, and dried, and rendered pliable by rubbing and drawing through the hands, answered for a bow-string; but afterwards, when they got the sinews and hide of the deer, they used them, properly dressed for the purpose.

Hector also made a cross-bow, which he used with great effect, being a true and steady marksman. Louis and he would often amuse themselves with shooting at a mark, which they would chip on the bark of a tree, even Catharine was a tolerable archeress with the long-bow, and the hut was now seldom without game of one kind or other. Hector seldom returned from his rambles without partridges, quails, or young pigeons, which are plentiful at this season of the year; many of the old ones that pass over in their migratory flight in the spring stay to breed, or return thither for the acorns and berries that are to be found in great abundance. Squirrels, too, are very plentiful at this season. Hector and Louis remarked that the red and black squirrels never were to be found very near each other. It is a common belief that the red squirrels make common cause with the gray, and beat the larger enemy off the ground. The black squirrel, for a succession of years, was very rarely to be met with on the Plains, while there were plenty of the red and gray in the "oak openings." [Footnote: Within the last few years, however, the black squirrels have been very numerous, and the red are less frequently to be seen. The flesh of the black squirrel is tender, white, and delicate, like that of a young rabbit.] Deer, at the time our young Crusoes were living on the Rice Lake Plains, were plentiful, and, of course, so were those beasts that prey upon them,—wolves, bears, and wolverines, besides the Canadian lynx, or catamount, as it is here commonly called, a species of wild cat or panther. These wild animals are now no longer to be seen: it is a rare thing to hear of bears or wolves, and the wolverine and lynx are known only as matters of history in this part of the country. These animals disappear as civilization advances, while some others increase and follow man, especially many species of birds, which seem to pick up the crumbs that fall from the rich man's board, and multiply about his dwelling; some adopt new habits and modes of building and feeding, according to the alteration and improvement in their circumstances.

While our young people seldom wanted for meat, they felt the privation of the bread to which they had been accustomed very sensibly. One day, while Hector and Louis were busily engaged with their assistant, Wolfe, in unearthing a woodchuck, that had taken refuge in his burrow, on one of the gravelly hills above the lake, Catharine amused herself by looking for flowers. She had filled her lap with ripe May-apples, [Footnote: The fruit of the May-apple, in rich, moist soil, will attain to the size of the magnum bonum, or egg-plum, which it resembles in colour and shape. It makes a delicious preserve, if seasoned with cloves or ginger. When eaten uncooked, the outer rind, which is thick and fleshy and has a rank taste, should be thrown aside; the fine seed pulp in which the seeds are embedded alone should be eaten. The root of the podophyllum is used as a cathartic by the Indians. The root of this plant is reticulated, and when a large body of them are uncovered, they present a singular appearance, interlacing each other in large meshes like an extensive net-work. These roots are white, as thick as a man's little finger, and fragrant, and spread horizontally along the surface. The blossom is like a small white rose.] but finding them cumbersome in climbing the steep wooded hills, she deposited them at the foot of a tree near the boys, and pursued her search; and it was not long before she perceived some pretty grassy-looking plants, with heads of bright lilac flowers, and on plucking one pulled up the root also. The root was about the size and shape of a large crocus: and on biting it, she found it far from disagreeable—sweet, and slightly astringent. It seemed to be a favourite root with the woodchucks, for she noticed that it grew about their burrows on dry, gravelly soil, and many of the stems were bitten and the roots eaten—a warrant, in full, of wholesomeness. Therefore, carrying home a parcel of the largest of the roots, she roasted them in the embers; and they proved almost as good as chestnuts, and more satisfying than the acorns of the white oak, which they had often roasted in the fire when they were out working on the fallow at the log heaps. Hector and Louis ate heartily of the roots, and commended Catharine for the discovery. Not many days afterwards, Louis accidentally found a much larger and more valuable root near the lake shore. He saw a fine climbing shrub, with close bunches of dark, reddish-purple, pea-shaped flowers, which scented the air with a delicious perfume. The plant climbed to a great height over the young trees, with a profusion of dark-green leaves and tendrils. Pleased with the bowery appearance of the plant, he tried to pull one up, that he might show it to his cousin, when the root displayed a number of large tubers, as big as good-sized potatoes, regular oval-shaped; the inside was quite white, tasting somewhat like a potato, only pleasanter, when in its raw state, than an uncooked potato. Louis gathered his pockets full, and hastened home with his prize; and on being roasted, these new roots were decided to be little inferior to potatoes—at all events, they were a valuable addition to their slender stores; and they procured as many as they could find, carefully storing them in a hole which they dug for that purpose in a corner of their hut. [Footnote: This plant appears to me to be a species of the Psoralea esculenta, or Indian bread-root, which it resembles in description, excepting that the root of the above is tuberous, oval, and connected by long filaments. The largest tubers are farthest from the stem of the plant.] Hector suggested that these roots would be far better late in autumn or early in the spring than during the time that the plant was in bloom; for he knew from observation and experience that at the flowering season the greater part of the nourishment derived from the soil goes to perfect the flower and the seeds. Upon scraping the cut tuber, there was a white, floury powder produced, resembling the starchy substance of the potato.

"This flour," said Catharine, "would make good porridge with milk."

"Excellent, no doubt, my wise little cook and housekeeper," said Louis laughing; "but, ma belle cousine, where is the milk and where is the porridge-pot to come from?"

"Indeed," said Catharine, "I fear, Louis, we must wait long for both."

One fine day Louis returned home from the lake shore in great haste for the bows and arrows, with the interesting news that a herd of five deer were in the water, and making for Long Island.

"But, Louis, they will be gone out of sight and beyond the reach of the arrows," said Catharine, as she handed him down the bows and a sheaf of arrows, which she quickly slung round his shoulders by the belt of skin which the young hunter had made for himself.

"No fear, ma chere; they will stop to feed on the beds of rice and lilies. We must have Wolfe. Here, Wolfe, Wolfe, Wolfe! here, boy, here!"

Catharine caught a portion of the excitement that danced in the bright eyes of her cousin, and declaring that she too would go and witness the hunt, ran down the ravine by his side; while Wolfe, who evidently understood that they had some sport in view, trotted along by his mistress, wagging his great bushy tail, and looking in high good-humour.

Hector was impatiently waiting the arrival of the bows and Wolfe. The herd of deer, consisting of a noble buck, two full-grown females, and two young half-grown males, were quietly feeding among the beds of rice and rushes not more than fifteen or twenty yards from the shore, apparently quite unconcerned at the presence of Hector, who stood on a fallen trunk, eagerly eying their motions. But the hurried steps of Louis and Catharine, with the deep, sonorous baying of Wolfe, soon roused the timid creatures to a sense of danger; and the stag, raising his head and making, as the children thought, a signal for retreat, now struck boldly out for the nearest point of Long Island.

"We shall lose them," cried Louis despairingly, eying the long bright track that cut the silvery waters as the deer swam gallantly out.

"Hist, hist, Louis," said Hector; "all depends upon Wolfe—Turn them, Wolfe! hey, hey, seek them, boy!"

Wolfe dashed bravely into the lake.

"Head them! head them!" shouted Hector. Wolfe knew what was meant. With the sagacity of a long-trained hunter, he made a desperate effort to gain the advantage by a circuitous route. Twice the stag turned irresolute, as if to face his foe, and Wolfe, taking the time, swam ahead, and then the race began. As soon as the boys saw the herd had turned, and that Wolfe was between them and the island, they separated, Louis making good his ambush to the right among the cedars, and Hector at the spring to the west, while Catharine was stationed at the solitary pine-tree, at the point which commanded the entrance of the ravine.

"Now, Cathy," said her brother, "when you see the herd making for the ravine, shout and clap your hands, and they will turn either to the right or to the left. Do not let them land, or we shall lose them. We must trust to Wolfe for their not escaping to the island. Wolfe is well trained; he knows what he is about."

Catharine proved a dutiful ally. She did as she was bid. She waited till the deer were within a few yards of the shore, then she shouted and clapped her hands. Frightened at the noise and clamour, the terrified creatures coasted along for some way, till within a little distance of the thicket where Hector lay concealed—the very spot from which they had emerged when they first took to the water; to this place they boldly steered. Louis, who had watched the direction the herd had taken with breathless interest, now noiselessly hurried to Hector's assistance, taking an advantageous post for aim, in case Hector's arrow missed, or only slightly wounded one of the deer.

Hector, crouched beneath the trees, waited cautiously till one of the does was within reach of his arrow, and so good and true was his aim, that it hit the animal in the throat a little above the chest, The stag now turned again, but Wolfe was behind and pressed him forward, and again the noble animal strained every nerve for the shore. Louis now shot his arrow, but it swerved from the mark. He was too eager; the arrow glanced harmlessly along the water. But the cool, unimpassioned hand of Hector sent another arrow between the eyes of the doe, stunning her with its force; and then another from Louis laid her on her side, dying, and staining the water with her blood.

The herd, abandoning their dying companion, dashed frantically to the shore; and the young hunters, elated by their success, suffered them to make good their landing without further molestation. Wolfe, at a signal from his master, ran in the quarry, and Louis declared exultingly that as his last arrow had given the coup de grace, he was entitled to the honour of cutting the throat of the doe; but this the stern Highlander protested against, and Louis, with a careless laugh, yielded the point, contenting himself with saying, "Ah well, I will get the first steak of the venison when it is roasted, and that is far more to my taste." Moreover, he privately recounted to Catharine the important share he had had in the exploit, giving her, at the same time, full credit for the worthy service she had performed in withstanding the landing of the herd. Wolfe, too, came in for a large share of the honour and glory of the chase.

The boys were soon hard at work skinning the animal and cutting it up. This was the most valuable acquisition they had yet effected, for many uses were to be made of the deer besides eating the flesh. It was a store of wealth in their eyes.

During the many years that their fathers had sojourned in the country, there had been occasional intercourse with the fur-traders and trappers, and sometimes with friendly-disposed Indians who had called at the lodges of their white brothers for food and tobacco.

From all these men, rude as they were, some practical knowledge had been acquired; and their visits, though few and far between, had left good fruit behind them—something to think about and talk about and turn to future advantage.

The boys had learned from the Indians how precious were the tough sinews of the deer for sewing. They knew how to prepare the skins of the deer for moccasins, which they could cut out and make as neatly as the squaws themselves. They could fashion arrow-heads, and knew how best to season the wood for making both the long and cross bow. They had seen the fish-hooks these people manufactured from bone and hard wood. They knew that strips of fresh-cut skins would make bowstrings, or the entrails of animals dried and rendered pliable. They had watched the squaws making baskets of the inner bark of the oak, elm, and bass-wood, and mats of the inner bark of the cedar, with many other ingenious works that they now found would prove useful to them, after a little practice had perfected their inexperienced attempts. They also knew how to dry venison as the Indians and trappers prepare it, by cutting the thick fleshy portions of the meat into strips from four to six inches in breadth and two or more in thickness. These strips they strung upon poles supported on forked sticks, and exposed them to the drying action of the sun and wind. Fish they split open, and removed the back and head bones, and smoked them slightly, or dried them in the sun.

Their success in killing the doe greatly raised their spirits; in their joy they embraced each other, and bestowed the most affectionate caresses on Wolfe for his good conduct.

"But for this dear, wise old fellow, we should have had no venison for dinner to-day," said Louis; "and so, Wolfe, you shall have a choice piece for your own share."

Every part of the deer seemed valuable in the eyes of the young hunters. The skin they carefully stretched out upon sticks to dry gradually, and the entrails they also preserved for bow-strings. The sinews of the legs and back they drew out and laid carefully aside for future use.

"We shall be glad enough of these strings by-and-by," said careful Hector; "for the summer will soon be at an end, and then we must turn our attention to making ourselves winter clothes and moccasins."

"Yes, Hec, and a good warm shanty. These huts of bark and boughs will not do when once the cold weather sets in."

"A shanty could soon be put up," said Hector; "for even Kate, wee bit lassie as she is, could give us some help in trimming up the logs."

"That I could, indeed," replied Catharine; "for you may remember, Hec, that the last journey my father made to the Bay, [Footnote: Bay of Quinte.] with the pack of furs, that you and I called a Bee [Footnote: A Bee is a practical instance of duty to a neighbour. We fear it is peculiar to Canada, although deserving of imitation in all Christian colonies. When any work which requires many hands is in the course of performance, as the building of log houses, barns, or shanties, all the neighbours are summoned, and give their best assistance in the construction. Of course the assisted party is liable to be called upon by the community in turn, to repay in kind the help he has received.] to put up a shed for the new cow that he was to drive back with him, and I am sure Mathilde and I did as much good as you and Louis. You know you said you could not have got on nearly so well without our help."

"After all," said Hector thoughtfully, "children can do a great many things if they only resolutely set to work, and use the wits and the strength that God has given them to work with. A few weeks ago and we should have thought it utterly impossible to have supported ourselves in a lonely wilderness like this by our own exertions in fishing and hunting."

"If we had been lost in the forest we must have died with hunger," said Catharine; "but let us be thankful to the good God who led us hither, and gave us health and strength to help ourselves."



CHAPTER IV.

"Aye from the sultry heat, We to our cave retreat, O'er canopied by huge roots, intertwined, Of wildest texture, blackened o'er with age."

COLERIDGE.

"Louis, what are you cutting out of that bit OF wood?" said Catharine, the very next day after the first ideas of the shanty had been started.

"Hollowing out a canoe."

"Out of that piece of stick!" said Catharine, laughing. "How many passengers is it to accommodate, my dear?"

"I am only making a model. My canoe will be made out of a big pine log, and large enough to hold three."

"Is it to be like the big sap-trough in the sugar-bush at home?"

Louis nodded assent. "I long to go over to the island; I see lots of ducks popping in and out of the little bays beneath the cedars, and there are plenty of partridges, I am sure, and squirrels—it is the very place for them."

"And shall we have a sail as well as oars?"

"Yes; set up your apron for a sail."

Catharine cast a rueful look upon the tattered remnant of the apron.

"It is worth nothing now," she said, sighing; "and what am I to do when my gown is worn out? It is a good thing it is so strong; if it had been cotton, now, it would have been torn to bits among the bushes."

"We must make clothes of skins as soon as we get enough," said Hector.—"Louis, I think you can manufacture a bone needle; we can pierce the hole with the strong thorns, or a little round bone bodkin that can be easily made."

"The first rainy day we will see what we can do," replied Louis; "but I am full of my canoe just now."

"Indeed, Louis, I believe you never think of anything else; but even if we had a canoe to-morrow, I do not think that either you or I could manage one," said cautious Hector.

"I could soon learn as others have done before me. I wonder who first taught the Indians to make canoes, and venture out on the lakes and streams. Why should we be more stupid than these untaught heathens? I have listened so often to my father's stories and adventures when he was out lumbering on the St. John River, that I am as familiar with the idea of a boat as if I had been born in one. Only think now," he said, turning to Catharine; "just think of the fish, the big ones, we could get if we had but a canoe to push out from the shore beyond those rush-beds."

"It strikes me, Louis, that those rush-beds, as you call them, must be the Indian rice that we have seen the squaws make their soup of."

"Yes; and you remember old Jacob used to talk of a fine lake that he called Rice Lake, somewhere to the northward of the Cold Springs, where he said there was plenty of game of all kinds, and a fine open place where people could see through the openings among the trees. He said it was a great hunting-place for the Indians in the Fall of the year, and that they came there to hunt the peccary, which is, as you know, a kind of wild boar, and whose flesh is very good eating."

"I hope the Indians will not come here and find us out," said Catharine, shuddering; "I think I should be more frightened at the Indians than at the wolves. Have we not heard fearful tales of their cruelty?"

"But we have never been harmed by them; they have always been civil enough when they came to the Springs."

"They came, you know, for food, or shelter or something that they wanted from us; but it may be different when they find us alone and unprotected, encroaching upon their hunting-grounds."

"The place is wide enough for us and them; we will try and make them our friends."

"The wolf and the lamb do not lie down in the fold together," observed Hector. "The Indian is treacherous. The wild man and the civilized man do not live well together, their habits and dispositions are so contrary the one to the other. We are open and they are cunning, and they suspect our openness to be only a greater degree of cunning than their own—they do not understand us. They are taught to be revengeful, and we are taught to forgive our enemies. So you see that what is a virtue with the savage is a crime with the Christian. If the Indian could be taught the Word of God he might be kind, and true, and gentle as well as brave."

It was with conversations like this that our poor wanderers whiled away their weariness. The love of life, and the exertions necessary for self-preservation, occupied so large a portion of their thoughts and time, that they had hardly leisure for repining. They mutually cheered and animated each other to bear up against the sad fate that had thus severed them from every kindred tie, and shut them out from that home to which their young hearts were bound by every endearing remembrance from infancy upwards.

One bright September morning our young people set off on an exploring expedition, leaving the faithful Wolfe to watch the wigwam; for they well knew he was too honest to touch their store of dried fish and venison himself, and too trusty and fierce to suffer wolf or wild cat near it.

They crossed several narrow, deep ravines, and the low wooded flat along the lake shore, to the eastward of Pine-tree Point. Finding it difficult to force their way through the thick underwood that always impedes the progress of the traveller on the low shores of the lake, they followed the course of an ascending narrow ridge, which formed a sort of natural causeway between two parallel hollows, the top of this ridge being in many places not wider than a cart or wagon could pass along. The sides were most gracefully adorned with flowering shrubs, wild vines, creepers of various species, wild cherries of several kinds, hawthorns, bilberry bushes, high-bush cranberries, silver birch, poplars, oaks, and pines; while in the deep ravines on either side grew trees of the largest growth, the heads of which lay on a level with their path. Wild cliffy banks, beset with huge boulders of red and gray granite and water-worn limestone, showed that it had once formed the boundary of the lake, though now it was almost a quarter of a mile in its rear. Springs of pure water were in abundance, trickling down the steep rugged sides of this wooded glen. The children wandered onwards, delighted with the wild picturesque path they had chosen, sometimes resting on a huge block of moss-covered stone, or on the twisted roots of some ancient gray old oak or pine, whilst they gazed with curiosity and interest on the lonely but lovely landscape before them. Across the lake, the dark forest shut all else from their view, rising in gradual far-off slopes till it reached the utmost boundary of sight. Much the children marvelled what country it might be that lay in the dim, blue, hazy distance,—to them, indeed, a terra incognita—a land of mystery; but neither of her companions laughed when Catharine gravely suggested the probability of this unknown shore to the northward being her father's beloved Highlands. Let not the youthful and more learned reader smile at the ignorance of the Canadian girl; she knew nothing of maps, and globes, and hemispheres,—her only book of study had been the Holy Scriptures, her only teacher a poor Highland soldier.

Following the elevated ground above this deep valley, the travellers at last halted on the extreme edge of a high and precipitous mound, that formed an abrupt termination to the deep glen. They found water not far from this spot fit for drinking by following a deer-path a little to the southward. And there, on the borders of a little basin on a pleasant brae, where the bright silver birch waved gracefully over its sides, they decided upon building a winter house. They named the spot Mount Ararat: "For here," said they, "we will build us an ark of refuge, and wander no more." And Mount Ararat is the name which the spot still bears. Here they sat them down on a fallen tree and ate a meal of dried venison and drank of the cold spring that welled out from beneath the edge of the bank. Hector felled a tree to mark the site of their house near the birches; and they made a blaze, as it is called, on he trees, by cutting away pieces of the outer bark as they returned home towards the wigwam, that they might not miss the place. They found less difficulty in retracing their path than they had formerly, as there were some striking peculiarities to mark it, and they had learned to be very minute in the marks they made as they travelled, so that they now seldom missed the way they came by. A few days after this they removed all their household stores—namely, the axe, the tin pot, bows and arrows, baskets, and bags of dried fruit, the dried venison and fish, and the deerskin; nor did they forget the deer-scalp, which they bore away as a trophy, to be fastened up over the door of their new dwelling, for a memorial of their first hunt on the shores of the Rice Lake. The skin was given to Catharine to sleep on.

The boys were now busy from morning till night chopping down trees for house-logs. It was a work of time and labour, as the axe was blunt and the oaks hard to cut; but they laboured on without grumbling, and Kate watched the fall of each tree with lively joy. They were no longer dull; there was something to look forward to from day to day—they were going to commence housekeeping in good earnest; they would be warmly and well lodged before the bitter frosts of winter could come to chill their blood. It was a joyful day when the log walls of the little shanty were put up, and the door hewed out. Windows they had none, so they did not cut out the spaces for them; [Footnote: Many a shanty is put up in Canada without windows, and only an open space for a door, with a rude plank set up to close it in at night.] they could do very well without, as hundreds of Irish and Highland emigrants have done before and since.

A pile of stones rudely cemented together with wet clay and ashes against the logs, and a hole cut in the roof, formed the chimney and hearth in this primitive dwelling. The chinks were filled with wedge-shaped pieces of wood, and plastered with clay: the trees, being chiefly oaks and pines, afforded no moss. This deficiency rather surprised the boys, for in the thick forest and close cedar-swamps moss grows in abundance on the north side of the trees, especially on the cedar, maple, beech, bass, and iron wood; but there were few of these, excepting a chance one or two in the little basin in front of the house. The roof was next put on, which consisted of split cedars. And when the little dwelling was thus far habitable, they were all very happy. While the boys had been putting on the roof, Catharine had collected the stones for the chimney, and cleared the earthen floor of the chips and rubbish with a broom of cedar boughs, bound together with a leathern thong. She had swept it all clean, carefully removing all unsightly objects, and strewing it over with fresh cedar sprigs, which gave out a pleasant odour and formed a smooth and not unseemly carpet for their little dwelling. How cheerful was the first fire blazing up on their own hearth! It was so pleasant to sit by its gladdening light, and chat away of all they had done and all that they meant to do! Here was to be a set of split cedar shelves, to hold their provisions and baskets; there a set of stout pegs was to be inserted between the logs, for hanging up strings of dried meat, bags of birch bark, or the skins of the animals they were to shoot or trap. A table was to be fixed on posts in the centre of the floor. Louis was to carve wooden platters and dishes, and some stools were to be made with hewn blocks of wood till something better could be devised. Their bedsteads were rough poles of ironwood, supported by posts driven into the ground, and partly upheld by the projection of the logs at the angles of the wall. Nothing could be more simple. The frame-work was of split cedar; and a safe bed was made by pine boughs being first laid upon the frame, and then thickly covered with dried grass, moss, and withered leaves. Such were the lowly but healthy couches on which these children of the forest slept.

A dwelling so rudely framed and scantily furnished would be regarded with disdain by the poorest English peasant. Yet many a settler's family have I seen as roughly lodged, while a better house was being prepared for their reception; and many a gentleman's son has voluntarily submitted to privations as great as these from the love of novelty and adventure, or to embark in the tempting expectation of realizing money in the lumbering trade,—working hard, and sharing the rude log shanty and ruder society of those reckless and hardy men, the Canadian lumberers. During the spring, and summer months these men spread themselves through the trackless forests, and along the shores of nameless lakes and unknown streams, to cut the pine or oak lumber,—such being the name they give to the felled stems of trees,—which are then hewn, and in the winter dragged out upon the ice, where they are formed into rafts, and in spring floated down the waters till they reach the great St. Lawrence, and are, after innumerable difficulties and casualties, finally shipped for England. I have likewise known European gentlemen voluntarily leave the comforts of a civilized home and associate themselves with the Indian trappers and hunters, leading lives as wandering and as wild as the uncultivated children of the forest.

The nights and early mornings were already growing sensibly more chilly. The dews at this season fall heavily, and the mists fill the valleys till the sun has risen with sufficient heat to draw up the vapours. It was a good thing that the shanty was finished so soon, or the exposure to the damp air might have been productive of ague and fever. Every hour almost they spent in making little additions to their household comforts, but some time was necessarily passed in trying to obtain provisions. One day Hector, who had been out from dawn till moonrise, returned with the welcome news that he had shot a young deer, and required the assistance of his cousin to bring it up the steep bank (it was just at the entrance of the great ravine) below the precipitous cliff near the lake: he had left old Wolfe to guard it in the meantime. They had now plenty of fresh broiled meat, and this store was very acceptable, as they were obliged to be very careful of the dried meat that they had.

This time Catharine adopted a new plan. Instead of cutting the meat in strips, and drying it (or jerking it, as the lumberers term it), she roasted it before the fire, and hung it up, wrapping it in thin sheets of birch bark. The juices, instead of being dried up, were preserved, and the meat was more palatable. Catharine found great store of wild plums in a beautiful valley not far from the shanty; these she dried for the winter store, eating sparingly of them in their fresh state. She also found plenty of wild black currants and high-bush cranberries, on the banks of a charming creek of bright water that flowed between a range of high pine hills and finally emptied itself into the lake. There were great quantities of water-cresses in this pretty brook; they grew in bright, round, cushion-like tufts at the bottom of the water, and were tender and wholesome. These formed an agreeable addition to their diet, which had hitherto been chiefly confined to animal food, for they could not always meet with a supply of the bread-roots, as they grew chiefly in damp, swampy thickets on the lake shore, which were sometimes very difficult of access. However, they never missed any opportunity of increasing their stores, and laying up for the winter such roots as they could procure.

As the cool weather and frosty nights drew on, the want of warm clothes and bed-covering became more sensibly felt; those they had were beginning to wear out. Catharine had managed to wash her clothes at the lake several times, and thus preserved them clean and wholesome; but she was often sorely puzzled how the want of her dress was to be supplied as time wore on, and many were the consultations she held with the boys on the important subject. With the aid of a needle she might be able to manufacture the skins of the small animals into some sort of jacket, and the doe-skin and deer-skin could be made into garments for the boys. Louis was always suppling and rubbing the skins to make them soft: they had taken off the hair by sprinkling it with wood ashes, and rolling it up with the hairy side inwards. Out of one of these skins he made excellent moccasins, piercing the holes with a sharpened bone bodkin, and passing the sinews of the deer through, as he had seen his father do, by fixing a stout fish-bone to the deer-sinew thread. Thus he had an excellent substitute for a needle; and, with the aid of the old file, he sharpened the point of the rusty nail, so that he was enabled, with a little trouble, to drill a hole in a bone needle for his cousin Catharine's use. After several attempts, he succeeded in making some of tolerable fineness, hardening them by exposure to a slow, steady degree of heat till she was able to work with them, and even mend her clothes with tolerable expertness. By degrees, Catharine contrived to cover the whole outer surface of her homespun woollen frock with squirrel and mink, musk-rat and woodchuck skins. A curious piece of fur patchwork of many hues and textures it presented to the eye,—a coat of many colours, it is true; but it kept the wearer warm, and Catharine was not a little proud of her ingenuity and industry,—every new patch that was added was a source of fresh satisfaction; and the moccasins that Louis fitted so nicely to her feet were great comforts. A fine skin that Hector brought triumphantly in one day, the spoil from a fox that had been caught in one of his dead-falls, was in due time converted into a dashing cap, the brush remaining as an ornament to hang down on one shoulder. Catharine might have passed for a small Diana when she went out, with her fur dress and bow and arrows, to hunt with Hector and Louis.

Whenever game of any kind was killed, it was carefully skinned, and the fur stretched upon bent sticks, being first turned, so as to present the inner part to the drying action of the air. The young hunters were most expert in this work, having been accustomed for many years to assist their fathers in preparing the furs which they disposed of to the fur traders, who visited them from time to time, and gave them various articles in exchange for their peltries,—such as powder and shot, and cutlery of different kinds, as knives, scissors, needles, and pins, with gay calico and cotton handkerchiefs for the women.

As the evenings lengthened, the boys employed themselves with carving wooden platters. Knives, and forks, and spoons they fashioned out of the larger bones of the deer, which they often found bleaching in the sun and wind, where they had been left by their enemies the wolves; baskets too they made, and birch dishes, which they could now finish so well that they held water or any liquid. But their great want was some vessel that would bear the heat of the fire; the tin pot was so small that it could be made little use of in the cooking way. Catharine had made tea of the leaves of the sweet fern,—a graceful woody fern, with a fine aromatic scent, like nutmegs. [Footnote: Comptoma asplenifolia, a small shrub of the sweet gale family.] This shrub is highly esteemed among the Canadians as a beverage, and also as a remedy against the ague. It grows in great abundance on dry sandy lands and wastes, by waysides.

"If we could but make some sort of earthen pot that would stand the heat of the fire," said Louis, "we might get on nicely with cooking."

But nothing like the sort of clay used by potters had been seen, and they were obliged to give up that thought and content themselves with roasting or broiling their food. Louis, however, who was fond of contrivances, made an oven, by hollowing out a place near the hearth and lining it with stones, filling up the intervals with wood ashes and such clay as they could find, beaten into a smooth mortar. Such cement answered very well, and the oven was heated by filling it with hot embers; these were removed when it was sufficiently heated, and the meat or roots placed within the oven being covered over with a flat stone previously heated before the fire and covered with hot embers. This sort of oven had often been described by old Jacob as one in common use among some of the Indian tribes in the Lower Province, in which they cook small animals; they could bake bread also in this oven, if they had had flour to use. [Footnote: This primitive oven is much like what voyagers have described as in use among the natives of many of the South Sea Islands.]

Since the finishing of the house and furnishing it the young people were more reconciled to their lonely life, and even entertained decided home feelings for their little log cabin. They never ceased, it is true, to talk of their parents, and brothers, and sisters, and wonder if all were well, and whether they still hoped for their return, and to recall their happy days spent in the home which they now feared they were destined never again to behold. Nevertheless, they were becoming each day more cheerful and more active. Ardently attached to each other, they seemed bound together by a yet more sacred tie of brotherhood. They were now all the world to one another, and no cloud of disunion came to mar their happiness. Hector's habitual gravity and caution were tempered by Louis's lively vivacity and ardour of temper; and they both loved Catharine, and strove to smooth as much as possible the hard life to which she was exposed, by the most affectionate consideration for her comfort; and she, in return, endeavoured to repay them by cheerfully enduring all privations, and making light of all their trials, and taking a lively interest in all their plans and contrivances.

Louis had gone out to fish at the lake one autumn morning. During his absence a sudden squall of wind came on, accompanied with heavy rain. As he stayed longer than usual, Hector began to feel uneasy lest some accident had befallen him, knowing his adventurous spirit, and that he had for some days previous been busy constructing a raft of cedar logs, which he had fastened together with wooden pins. This raft he had nearly finished, and was even talking of adventuring over to the nearest island to explore it, and see what game and roots and fruits it afforded.

Bidding Catharine stay quietly within doors till his return, Hector ran off, not without some misgivings of evil having befallen his rash cousin, which fears he carefully concealed from his sister, as he did not wish to make her needlessly anxious. When he reached the shore, his mind was somewhat relieved by seeing the raft on the beach, just as it had been left the night before; but neither Louis nor the axe was to be seen, nor the fishing-rod and line.

"Perhaps," thought he, "Louis has gone further down, to the mouth of the little creek in the flat east of this, where we caught our last fish; or maybe he has gone up to the old place at Pine-tree Point."

While he yet stood hesitating within himself which way to turn, he heard steps as of some one running, and perceived his cousin hurrying through the bushes in the direction of the shanty. It was evident by his disordered air; and the hurried glances that he cast over his shoulder from time to time, that something unusual had occurred to disturb him.

"Holloa, Louis! is it a bear, wolf, or catamount that is on your trail?" cried Hector; almost amused by the speed with which his cousin hurried onward. "Why, Louis, whither away?"

Louis now turned and held up his hand, as if to enjoin silence, till Hector came up to him.

"Why, man, what ails you? what makes you run as if you were hunted down by a pack of wolves?"

"It is not wolves, or bears either," said Louis, as soon as he could get breath to speak; "but the Indians are all on Bare Hill, holding a war-council, I suppose, for there are several canoe-loads of them."

"How came you to see them?"

"I must tell you that when I parted from you and Cathy, instead of going down to my raft, as I thought at first I would do, I followed the deer-path through the little ravine, and then ascending the side of the valley, I crossed the birch grove, and kept down the slope within sight of the creek. While I was looking out upon the lake, and thinking how pretty the islands were, rising so green from the blue water, I was surprised by seeing several dark spots dotting the lake. At first, you may be sure, I thought they must be a herd of deer, only they kept too far apart, so I sat down on a log to watch, thinking if they turned out to be deer I would race off for you and Wolfe, and the bows and arrows, that we might try our chance for some venison; but as the black specks came nearer and nearer, I perceived they were canoes with Indians in them, three in each. One made for the mouth of the creek, and ran ashore among the thick bushes, while the others kept further along the shore. I watched them with a beating heart, and lay down flat, lest they should spy me out; for those fellows have eyes like catamounts, so keen and wild—they see everything without seeming to cast a glance on it. After closely examining what I suppose was one of our footmarks, I saw them wind up the ridge till they reached the Bare Hill. [Footnote: Supposed to be a council-hill. It is known by the name of Bare Hill, from the singular want of verdure on its surface, It is one of the steepest on the ridge above the little creek; being a picturesque object, with its fine pine-trees, seen from Mr. Hayward's grounds, and forms, I believe, a part of his property.] You remember that spot; we called it so from its barren appearance. In a few minutes a column of smoke rose and curled among the pine-trees, and then another and another, till I counted five fires burning brightly; and, as I stood on the high ground, I could distinguish the figures of many naked savages moving about, running to and fro like a parcel of black ants on a cedar log; and by-and-by I heard them raise a yell like a pack of ravenous wolves on a deer track. It made my heart leap up in my breast. I forgot all the schemes that had just got into my wise head of slipping quietly down and taking off one of the empty birch canoes, which you must own would have been a glorious thing for us; but when I heard the noise these wild wretches raised, I darted off, and ran as if the whole set were at my heels. I think I just saved my scalp." And Louis put his hand to his head, and tugged his thick black curls, as if to ascertain that they were still safe from the scalping-knives of his Indian enemies.

"And now, Hec, what is to be done? We must hide ourselves from the Indians; they will kill us, or take us away with them, if they find us."

"Let us go home and talk over our plans with Cathy."

"Yes; for I have heard my father say two heads are better than one, and so three of course must be still better than two."

"Why," said Hector, laughing, "it depends upon the stock of practical wisdom in the heads; for two fools, you know, Louis, will hardly form one rational plan."

Various were the schemes devised for their security. Hector proposed pulling down the shanty and dispersing the logs, so as to leave no trace of the little dwelling; but to this neither his cousin nor his sister would agree. To pull down the new house that had cost them so much labour, and which had proved such a comfort to them, they could not endure even in idea.

"Let us put out the fire, and hide ourselves in the big ravine below Mount Ararat; dig a cave in one of the hills, and convey our household goods thither." Such was Louis's plan.

"The ravines would be searched directly," suggested Hector; "besides, the Indians know they are famous coverts for deer and game of all sorts: they might chance to pop upon us, and catch us like woodchucks in a burrow."

"Yes, and burn us," said Catharine with a shudder. "I know the path that leads direct to the 'Happy Valley,' (the name she had given to the low flat now known as the 'Lower Race-course'), and it is not far from here, only ten minutes' walk in a straight line. We can conceal ourselves below the steep bank that we descended the other day; and there are several springs of fresh water, and plenty of nuts and berries; and the trees, though few, are so thickly covered with close-spreading branches that touch the very ground that we might hide ourselves from a hundred eyes, were they ever so cunning and prying."

Catharine's counsel was deemed the most prudent, and the boys immediately busied themselves with hiding under the broken branches of a prostrate tree such articles as they could not conveniently carry away, leaving the rest to chance. With the most valuable they loaded themselves, guided by Catharine, who, with her dear old dog, marched forward along the narrow footpath that had been made by some wild animals, probably deer, in their passage from the lake to their feeding-place, or favourite covert, on the low sheltered plain, where, being quite open, and almost, in parts, free from trees, the grass and herbage was sweeter and more abundant, and the springs of water were fresh and cool.

Catharine cast many a fearful glance through the brushwood as they moved onward, but saw no living thing, excepting a family of chitmunks gaily chasing each other along a fallen branch, and a covey of quails that were feeding quietly on the red berries of the Mitchella repens, or twinberry, [Footnote: Also partridge-berry and checker-berry, a lovely creeping winter-green, with white fragrant flowers and double scarlet berry.] as it is commonly called, of which the partridges and quails are extremely fond; for Nature with a liberal hand has spread abroad her bounties for the small denizens, furred or feathered, that haunt the Rice Lake and its flowery shores.

After a continued but gentle ascent through the oak opening, they halted at the foot of a majestic pine, and looked round them. It was a lovely spot as any they had seen: from west to east, the lake, bending like a silver crescent, lay between the boundary hills of forest trees; in front, the long lines of undulating wood-covered heights faded away into mist, and blended with the horizon. To the east, a deep and fertile valley lay between the high lands on which they rested and the far ridge of oak hills. From their vantage height they could distinguish the outline of the Bare Hill, made more distinct by its flickering fires and the smoke wreaths that hung like a pearly-tinted robe among the dark pines that grew upon its crest. Not long tarrying did our fugitives make, though perfectly safe from detection by the distance and their shaded position, for many a winding vale and wood-crowned height lay between them and the encampment.

But fear is not subject to the control of reason, and in the present instance it invested the dreaded Indians with superhuman powers of sight and of motion. A few minutes' hasty flight brought our travellers to the brow of a precipitous bank, nearly a hundred feet above the level open plain which they sought. Here, then, they felt comparatively safe: they were out of sight of the camp-fires, the spot they had chosen was open, and flight, in case of the approach of the Indians, not difficult, while hiding-places were easy of access. They found a deep, sheltered hollow in the bank, where two mighty pines had been torn up by the roots, and prostrated headlong down the steep, forming a regular cave, roofed by the earth and fibres that had been uplifted in their fall. Pendent from these roots hung a luxuriant curtain of wild grape-vines and other creepers, which formed a leafy screen, through which the most curious eye could scarcely penetrate. This friendly vegetable veil seemed as if provided for their concealment, and they carefully abstained from disturbing the pendent foliage, lest they should, by so doing, betray their hiding-place to their enemies. They found plenty of long grass, and abundance of long soft green moss and ferns near a small grove of poplars which surrounded a spring of fine water. They ate some dried fruit and smoked fish, and drank of the clear spring; and after they had said their evening prayers, they lay down to sleep, Catharine's head pillowed on the neck of her faithful guardian, Wolfe. In the middle of the night a startling sound, as of some heavy body falling, wakened them all simultaneously. The night was so dark they could see nothing, and, terror-stricken, they sat gazing into the impenetrable darkness of their cave, not even daring to speak to each other, hardly even to breathe. Wolfe gave a low grumbling bark, and resumed his couchant posture, as if nothing worthy of his attention was near to cause the disturbance. Catharine trembled and wept, and prayed for safety against the Indians and beasts of prey; and Hector and Louis listened, till they fell fast asleep in spite of their fears. In the morning, it seemed as if they had dreamed some terrible dream, so vague were their recollections of the fright they had had; but the cause was soon perceived. A large stone that had been heaved up with the clay that adhered to the roots and fibres had been loosened, and had fallen on the ground, close to the spot where Catharine lay. So ponderous was the mass, that had it struck her, death must have been the consequence of the blow; and Hector and Louis beheld it with fear and amazement, while Catharine regarded it as a proof of Divine mercy and protection from Him in whose hand her safety lay. The boys, warned by this accident, carefully removed several large stones from the roof, and tried the safety of the clay walls with a stout staff, to ascertain that all was secure, before they again ventured to sleep beneath this rugged canopy.



CHAPTER V.

"The soul of the wicked desireth evil: his neighbour findeth no favour in his eyes."—Proverbs.

For several days they abstained from lighting a fire, lest the smoke should be seen; but this the great height of the bank would have effectually prevented. They suffered much cold at night from the copious dew, which, even on sultry summer evenings, is productive of much chilling. They could not account for the fact that the air at night was much warmer on the high hills than in the low valleys; they were even sensible of a rush of heat as they ascended to the higher ground. These simple children had not been taught that it is the nature of the heated air to ascend, and its place to be supplied by the colder and denser particles. They noticed the effects, but understood nothing of the causes that ruled them.

The following days they procured several partridges, but feared to cook them; however, they plucked them, split them open, and dried the flesh for a future day. A fox or raccoon, attracted by the smell of the birds, came one night and carried them off, for in the morning they were gone. They saw several herd of deer crossing the plain, and one day Wolfe tracked a wounded doe to a covert under the poplars, near a hidden spring, where she had lain herself down to die in peace, far from the haunts of her fellows. The arrow was in her throat; it was of white flint, and had evidently been sent from an Indian bow. It was almost with fear and trembling that they availed themselves of the venison thus providentially thrown in their way, lest the Indians should track the blood of the doe, and take vengeance on them for appropriating it for their own use. Not having seen anything of the Indians, who seemed to confine themselves to the neighbourhood of the lake, after many days had passed they began to take courage, and even ventured to light an evening fire, at which they cooked as much of the venison as would last them for several days, and hung the remaining portions above the smoke to preserve it from injury.